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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297896">Wrestling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/brownbot5k/pseuds/brownbot5k'>brownbot5k</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Pretty Girls with Good Manners [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Declarations Of Love, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Play Fighting, Trans Female Character, Wrestling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 01:00:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,075</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297896</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/brownbot5k/pseuds/brownbot5k</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Grace wrestled in high school and her boyfriend has a thing for jocks.  But what starts as horsing around goes awry.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Female Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Pretty Girls with Good Manners [11]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005243</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wrestling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Even with the boxes, Bob’s apartment is full of mementos—dancing and math Olympics trophies, fanzines, old radio parts.  Grey, though, took nothing personal when she left but that old copy of Leaves of Grass and a few makeshift bookmarks inside.  When Bob asks if there are any photos of her as a child, she goes and pulls them from the pages.</p><p>The first is her prom photo: Vicky in her fluffy green dress, Grey in an ill-fitting rental suit.  She’s stiff and unsmiling, but Vicky’s head is thrown back laughing.  It’s how Grey likes to remember her.</p><p>“So this is her?” Bob says. “She’s cute.  Any idea what she’s doing now?”</p><p>Grey shakes her head.  A couple days later, Bob will tell her that according to the Internet, Vicky’s an aerospace engineer with the Sojourner probe people, and it’ll brighten Grey’s day, but for now, Bob moves on.</p><p>The other is a newspaper clipping, yellow and brittle, local coverage of her high school wrestling team.  It has a grainy photo of Grey during a match, the only one of her she likes.</p><p>“Oh wow, this is you?”</p><p>“Won regionals that year,” she says. “Never happened again.”</p><p>“You look good in this one.”</p><p>Grey shrugs.  She wasn’t aware of the camera, so didn’t tense up.  Besides, she always looks (feels) better in motion.  Then she sees how Bob is eyeing the wrestling singlet and nudges him.</p><p>“Nothing.  Just imagining.” Bob’s tone is distracted.  He likes jocks, she knows, and women tossing him around.  It inspires an idea.</p><p>“Wrestled before?” She asks.</p><p>“Ha!  No.”</p><p>“Want to?”</p><p>Bob looks up.  His expression is exactly what she hopes for. “Hell yes.”</p><p>They clear a space on the living room floor.  It’s been a long time, and Grey’s joints aren’t what they used to be, but that’s fine; it’s not like this is intended to be competitive.</p><p>“Wow,” Bob says, once they’re in starting position with Grey’s arm around him. “And people think ballroom is gay.”</p><p>Grey chuckles.  Ballroom dancing is almost compulsively heterosexual, with its strict roles of male lead and female follow; what it isn’t is macho.  Wrestling, on the other hand, is (mostly) men rolling around together on the floor in leotards, and as an adult, Grey’s free to enjoy it.  She already feels a tingle. “Ready?  Go.”</p><p>Within seconds, Grey is covered in rug burn, breathing hard, and has Bob pinned.  Bob doesn’t seem to mind, judging by his face and the way he’s breathing.</p><p>“I,” he pants, “am jealous.”</p><p>Grey lets him up, only to get tackled.</p><p>“Not legal,” she protests, but Bob pins her wrists, slides his thigh between hers, and grins when Grey instinctively opens to it.</p><p>“I didn’t tap out,” he says, and his voice is dark and rough. “First one to come loses.”</p><p>Grey smiles, nods, and topples him.</p><p>It takes a while.  This isn’t sport; it’s play, and Grey can last as long as she needs to.  At one point, things get rowdy enough that they crash Grey into the coffee table and have to cry yellow to make sure that she’s unhurt and everything is well and truly out of the way.  They have to keep their clothes on, since the carpet isn’t the kind that’s good against sensitive parts.</p><p>It feels wonderful.  Wrestling was the closest Grey was able to get to someone as a teen and have it be okay, and it was only okay as long as she didn’t enjoy it too much.  Now, though, enjoying is the whole point, and having Bob all over her, rough and panting and sweaty and perfect—</p><p>They’re both getting close.  Grey can feel that delicious aching tension building, keeps moving her hips even when there’s nothing to rub against, and somewhere along the way both their shirts have gotten untucked and rucked up.  Bob’s hard and has been for a while, and finally, Grey twists, uses her legs to pin him down on his back, and pulls his dick out of his shorts.</p><p>And Bob blurts, “I love you!”</p><p>Grey freezes.  She looks up, but Bob thrashes.</p><p>“Don’t you dare stop, you beautiful fucking—” Grey goes down on him. “Fuck!”</p><p>Bob always talks a lot during sex, but usually he manages to stay filthily coherent.  This time though, he writhes against her grip and babbles end-of-the-world ecstasies like, “love you, god, I fucking love you, beautiful fucking girl, I love you—” before coming.  Grey licks him clean and pauses to catch her breath, because she is throbbing.</p><p>“Holy shit,” Bob breathes when he comes down. “That was the most fun I’ve ever had losing.” He turns his head, sees the wetness on Grey’s shorts, makes a pleased sound and works an arm free to touch. “Looks like it was close, though…”</p><p>Grey gets up and walks away, leaving him there.</p><p>“Grace?”</p><p>“Don’t have to say it.”</p><p>Bob hesitates. “You’ve said it to me.”</p><p>Grey’s throat locks.</p><p>Bob sits up, adjusts his clothes.  Without his glasses, he probably can’t make out her expression, but he can see that she’s pulled away, out of reach. “Are you okay?”</p><p>She sits against the wall, curls into a ball, and hides her face in her arms.  She taps out on the floor.</p><p>She hears Bob get up, fetch his glasses from the other room, come back. “Can I touch you?”</p><p>Grey nods without looking up.</p><p>Bob starts petting her back.  He waits.</p><p>It’s one thing for her to love him, to say it to him.  That’s fine, the way it should be.  But Bob isn’t supposed to love her back.  He’s not supposed to say it.  He doesn’t have to; it shows in his patience, his touch and his eyes, his home-cooked meals and learning SGSL for when her throat locks and giving her tomorrow after tomorrow.  He shouldn’t have to say anything, shouldn’t have to call her…</p><p>“Not a beautiful girl,” she signs.</p><p>Bob’s voice is sad. “I won’t call you that if you don’t want me to.”</p><p>Grey shakes her head. “I want it,” she signs. “That’s what hurts.”</p><p>Then she loses words, but Bob doesn’t push, doesn’t get defensive, doesn’t pull away when Grey starts to rock because she hasn’t been able to cry in a long time.  He just stays with his hand on her back, quietly loving her.</p><p>He stays the night, leaves a toothbrush and his spare bifocals there, and he keeps calling her beautiful girl.</p>
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